we weren't really friendsthere wasn't timeand I'm left comfortless with thoughts of could-have-been

(part of you was never meant to touch the ground again)

people who loved you keep sayingyou would have wanted it this wayI know better (I knew you well enough)you valued your life too much to step awayso easily

dying, you would have had just enough time to be afraidunless you were fearlessthe way you were in life

and it's the not-knowing that keeps shredding meas I think this, over and over (please don't be afraid)

(it's all over now)

I don't know how to pray, but that's a lieall poems are prayers to something(poems are lies)

I don't believe in an afterlifeand if I did, I don't know if it would be morefor my sakeor for yours

-----------------------------"Because it is bitter"I'm not sorryI wrote that poemit was not meant to bring comfortto anyoneI was too busytearing out my heartto show you, to see if I couldhow can you live without your heart?you ask meI don't knowperhaps one dayI'll be able to write myselfa new one(DaRK PaRTY Contributor Rebecca Traquair is a poet living in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. When she's not writing, she spends an inordinate amount of time poring overmaps and reading indiscriminately. Perennial favorite writers include Harlan Ellison, H.D., Tanith Lee, Neil Gaiman, and Gregory Corso.)